


The Many Facets of Merlin

by Blackwidina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Slice of Life, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwidina/pseuds/Blackwidina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a tendency to try and put Merlin in a mental box: he's the clumsy, stupid, insubordinate servant.</p><p>But sometimes . . . sometimes he sees a new side to Merlin. And the more sides he sees, the more he wants to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merlin the Scholar

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Season 1

It was very early in their association that Arthur began to learn that his idiotic, bumbling, incompetent, ill-bred, and _insubordinate_ manservant actually had some hidden depths to him.

The first clue into the many facets of Merlin came on a day Arthur was actually running late _himself_ for once. His training session had run a little long, as he'd been teaching a newer knight some complicated footwork, and he'd had to rush to his chambers to have a quick wash in the basin before getting dressed for a council session. 

Merlin, in a vast improvement from his first few days, not only got Arthur out of his armor quickly, but already had a basin of hot water ready, and a fresh set of clothes. Arthur was honestly relieved enough to not say anything when Merlin promptly dropped his armor all over the floor. He just sighed pointedly, ignoring his manservant's grimace.

Running a wet hand through his hair, he grabbed the nearby towel and started drying himself off as quickly as he could. “Merlin, leave it for a moment. I need the recent count of the grain reserves. It's on my desk.” 

As Merlin nodded and darted across the room, Arthur mentally cast about in his memory for where he'd put it. Had it been on the right side, or the left? Was it under the patrol reports? He didn't have time for Merlin to bring him everything--

“Here you go.”

Arthur blinked, bewildered, at the parchment held before him.

_The correct parchment._

It took him a moment, but finally he looked at Merlin. “You can _read?”_

Merlin's brow furrowed. “Of course I can read. I'm pretty good at maths, as well. Is . . . that a problem?”

Arthur made sure, one last time, that his hands were completely dry before taking the document. “Er . . . no. I just . . . have never had a servant who _could_ read before. Most peasants can't.'

The younger man made a face. “I would have thought things would be different in a big place like Camelot.”

Shrugging, Arthur set the parchment aside, and allowed Merlin to pull a red tunic over his head. “Most of Camelot's citizens are poor, and don't have time to learn. There have been some attempts to educate the children, but--”

“But most of them have to help their families as soon as they are able. The smarter ones get apprenticed and learn from their masters, but the rest are content with just enough writing and numbers to not get cheated at market.”

Arthur stared at Merlin. “. . . Just so. How did _you_ . . . ?”

Merlin smiled up as he buckled Arthur's belt. “My mother taught me. A long time ago, she used to be one of Gaius' apprentices, til her mother got sick and she moved back home to Ealdor. We didn't have many books, and those were all on herbs, but there's plenty of dirt and sticks, and she usually scraped together enough coin for parchment to practice on. She tried to teach the other villagers too, but. Well. Just like here, I guess. Too busy. Too much to do. Not enough interest.”

“But you did?”

Merlin's hands stilled for a moment on his shirt laces. “I've always been . . . different. And I never got along with most of the people back home, so I spent a lot of time on my own. And we may not have story books, but Mother could remember the ones she'd read, and she'd tell me the stories. It was a good way to . . . forget, I suppose. For a little while.” He huffed. “I suppose that seems foolish.”

“No,” Arthur blurted. He thought back to when he had been much younger, with fewer demands on his time. Geoffrey had indulged him shamefully on his fascination for adventure stories, and even now, when he had to fetch some dusty old tome on genealogy or warfare or something for his duties, the old man would quirk a smile at him, and sigh over the dwindling hours of leisure for a young prince.

Merlin nudged him out of his thoughts, holding out Arthur's jacket. He slid his arms in, letting Merlin fiddle with the collar and cuffs. Merlin really acted more like a nursemaid than a proper servant, but if Arthur was honest with himself, he rather enjoyed the fussing. “So, if you grew up reading nothing but books on herbs, why does Gaius constantly bemoan your lack of skill as a healer?”

The younger man snorted, “They were _there,_ yes, but that doesn't mean I read them all that often. You'll notice that he doesn't think twice about sending me on gathering expeditions.”

“You just looked at the pictures, didn't you.”

“Well, when the text underneath is all about how to use the pretty flower to combat explosive dia--”

“All right, your point is taken,” Arthur jumped in, not wanting to think about it. Holding up the parchment, he jerked his head to indicate the rest of the room. “I should be back in an hour or two. I expect dinner to be hot this time and this place had better be spotless. Understood?”

Merlin gave him a blinding grin. “Yes, sir.”

Moving towards the door, Arthur paused one last time on the threshold. “And Merlin?”

He glanced up from the floor where he'd bent to mop up the water Arthur had dripped. “Yes?”

“Tell Geoffrey in the library that I authorized you to borrow any book you like.” And he left before he could see Merlin's reaction. 

Not that he wanted to, anyway.


	2. Merlin the Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is clearly clueless about how things work in Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in Season 1

_Late late late late late late late that prat is going to put me in the bloody stocks ag--_

Merlin slammed into Arthur's chambers at a full run, completely forgetting to knock (again,) and nearly tripping over his own feet (also again.)

Without even looking up from the parchment he was writing on, Arthur drawled, “Well, Merlin. I'm surprised you bothered to show up. I was beginning to hope you'd quit.”

Sucking in a breath, Merlin stood up tall to make a sarcastic retort (probably along the lines of being justified in quitting after having multiple metal objects hurled at him that morning) when he spotted the man standing next to the table, and his lungs deflated in an audible whoosh. “ _You!_ I was looking for you! You're why I'm late!”

Antony, one of the couriers for Camelot, straightened from his slouch and smiled in a way that made Merlin's hackles rise. “Well, the honor of serving the royal family _does_ come first, lad.”

Arthur glanced up, eyebrows raised, quill still moving. “You were late because you were looking for Antony.”

His skepticism was plain on his face.

He nodded. “It's the first of the month. Sire.” _Titles, remember the stupid titles._ It was one thing to forget when they were alone, but Merlin was damned if he'd forget around other people again. Last time, he'd slipped in front of the King, and only some slick talking had kept him from the stocks. _Again._

All he got in return was a blank look. “And?”

Good god, did the prat have _no_ idea how things worked in his own castle? Struggling to keep the sarcasm from bleeding into his voice, Merlin explained carefully. “On the first of the month, the steward pays everyone that works in the castle their wages.”

“My father _pays_ you? I hope it's not much. Your service is abysmal.”

A stream of curses both magical and mundane played in the back of Merlin's mind as he counted to ten before continuing. "Be that as it may, _Sire,_ those of us who have family outside of Camelot use one of the couriers to send part of our wages to them. Antony is the courier who handles the eastern area of Camelot, so he's the one I send my wages home with.”

“Your mother still lives outside Camelot?”

Merlin bit his tongue to stop from snapping, _No, I live with Gaius for his cooking._

In his silence, Antony spoke up, his voice oily with deference. “Aye, m'lord. Every month I cross the border to Ealdor. Regular as clockwork.”

Arthur absorbed that and seemed to give an internal shrug. “All right then, _Mer_ lin. While I'm writing this reply, feel free to conduct your business with Antony. We wouldn't want your mother to worry. Though if you were as consistently late back home as you are here, I shouldn't be surprised if she's used to it.”

To hell with it. Arthur was getting an emetic in his dinner tonight. Merlin could always blame the kitchens. “Thank you. _Sire._ ” 

If his voice was a little strangled from all the vitriol he _wasn't_ yelling, Arthur didn't seem to notice.

Merlin sighed, trying to relax his shoulders as he turned to Antony. “Same fee as last month?” he asked hopefully.

Antony smiled in a way that he obviously meant to be friendly but fell short by a few miles. “Sorry, lad. All sorts of bandit activity lately. It'll be ten.”

“Ten?!” Merlin squeaked. That was a quarter of his wages! “No. Five. I know that road. I've traveled it. Ealdor hardly ever has trouble—there's not enough there to make it worth the effort.”

The smile dimmed down. “Ten, lad. I've a right to compensation for me time and distance and relative danger. Bandits means more danger, more compensation.”

“There's been _one_ bandit attack reported in that area in the last month, and it was on the south side of the forest, not the north. _And_ it was taken care of by the Camelot patrol. Seven, and no more.” Merlin contested hotly. And he would know. He'd been standing by Arthur's side when the patrol leader had made his report.

“ _Ten,_ or you'll be taking it yourself. On your no doubt _numerous_ days off.”

Cursing to himself, Merlin gave in and grabbed his money pouch. _“Fine.”_ He shook out the silver coins, mumbling aloud as he worked out the maths. “Ten for you, leaves thirty, divided by two means fifteen for Mother.” He pulled out the parchment envelope he'd made for the occasion, the letter to his mother already tucked inside.

He counted out ten coins and set them on the table where Antony could reach. But before he could pull his hand back, a large hand was on his, holding it there.

Merlin glanced up, startled, to see Arthur looking down at their hands, looking pensive. “Antony, it occurs to me that as my manservant, Merlin here is a member of the royal household. As such, you should take question of payment to the steward.”

Antony paled. The Camelot steward, Simon, was known for being incredibly tight-fisted with the castle coffers. He would be no easy shake down like Merlin had been. And on top of that, if Antony spurned or didn't complete his paid assignment, he'd find his professional reputation in ruins. “Ah . . . of course, your highness. I'll . . . do that.”

Arthur's hand curved down Merlin's fingers, pushing the little pile of coins back towards the servant. “I think you need to recount.” His hand withdrew.

Merlin released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Hand tingling with warmth, he slid the ten coins back. His mind buzzing with white noise, he quickly split the money into equal shares, and added twenty coins to his mother's letter, and sealed it with wax from the candle on the table. 

Antony took the letter without a word, his silence the only indication of his displeasure. He tucked it into the bag he kept around his shoulders. Merlin secretly prayed that the man wouldn't 'accidentally' drop the letter into a bog.

For his part, Arthur finished his reply letter, and sealed it properly, with the scarlet wax and seal that Merlin secretly envied. He handed it to Antony. “Take just as much care with Merlin's missive as with mine. Understood? I'd hate to have to assign you an . . . escort. Off you go.”

The courier paled even further before bowing and quickly leaving the room. 

Merlin made it about two seconds before bursting into a huge smile. “Thank you, Arthur, you've no idea how much that helped.”

Arthur gave him the half smile that meant he was trying not to grin back. “Yes, well. I suppose every job should have _some_ perks, even if you're bloody awful at it.” He nodded towards the rest of the money. “What are you planning to do with that?”

He shrugged. “It all goes to Gaius.”

“ _All_ of it?”

“Well, yeah. I have to eat too, you know.”

Arthur's brow furrowed thoughfully. “I assumed he'd be given a stipend to pay for apprentice expenses.”

Merlin shrugged again. “He tried, but the steward says that since I'm technically your manservant, I can't also be Gaius' apprentice. So instead, I give half my pay to Gaius so he can feed us both and buy extra supplies for when he's teaching me.”

“And pay for whatever you break, no doubt.”

He laughed at that. “True. So, what you did, with Antony. It'll help a lot. Thank you.”

Arthur couldn't seem to help a full smile at that, and it softened his gaze in ways that made Merlin's breath catch a little. “You're welcome.” 

For a long moment, they just seemed caught there, staring at one another as Merlin's ears steadily grew warmer and his chest tighter. Finally, desperate for air, he glanced at the window, and the angle of the sun broke the hold on his lungs. He quickly scooped up his money and shoved it into his pouch. “Sorry about that. It's midday, and I bet you're starving. I'll be right back with your lunch.” 

All he heard of Arthur's reply was a distracted 'hmm' as Merlin bolted out of the door.

And a month later, when Gaius discovered that he'd been granted an allowance to cover for the training of an apprentice, Merlin knew better to say anything.

Even when he noticed the exact amount of Gaius's new stipend in Arthur's personal expense book.


	3. Merlin the Frump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longer I watched Merlin, the more I noticed that some of Merlin's shirts got suddenly nicer. Better cloth, better, brighter dye. Now where would a servant have gotten such nice threads, I wonder?
> 
> And oh, look at that. Arthur sure wears a lot of red and blue as well . . .

“Arthur, I'm going to need some time off this afternoon.”

Arthur glanced up at his manservant. “Whatever for? And since when do you _ask_ and not just disappear? Though to be fair, that was a piss-poor attempt at asking permission.”

Merlin cocked his head and grinned in that annoying manner that made him look like an adorable puppy. “D'you know what today is?”

“The day you let me eat my lunch in peace for once? Ah, no, too late.” He pointedly stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken.

Undaunted, Merlin just huffed a laugh to himself. “Never. If I don't distract you, you'll eat too much.”

 _Fucking hell._ Arthur tossed down his fork in annoyance. “Are you on about me getting _fat_ again, because I swear to God if you are--”

In complete defiance of good sense, the idiot laughed even harder, completely ignoring Arthur's (completely justifiable—he was _not_ getting bloody fat)—fuming. “No, no! I swear! It's just that it's been six months since I started working for you!”

Scowling, Arthur picked his fork back up, trying to quell the urge to try and stab Merlin with it. He was so skinny, his bones would probably just bend the metal, anyway. “And what? You want to _celebrate?_? Frankly, condolences would be more appropriate.”

Merlin was still sniggering, “Not quite, no. We poor, put-upon servants are given two sets of clothes as part of our wages every year. Since it's my first time, I have to go to the tailor and let them take measurements and whatnot. Well, me and a few other servants. They just kind of lump us all into one afternoon, and this is it.”

“Fine then. Perhaps you'll stop looking like we've press-ganged a beggar off the streets.”

“My duty to please, sire.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

It took Arthur nearly two weeks to notice that . . . there was nothing worth noticing. Merlin looked exactly the same as before. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what happened to the clothes you were so excited about?” he asked as he waited for Merlin to fetch one of his tunics.

“Mmm? What d'you mean? I'm wearing them!” He pulled out one of Arthur's shirts, and rolled his eyes when Arthur shook his head.

Arthur took a moment to look his manservant over. Blue tunic, brown pants, ridiculous boots, same belt, ratty red neckerchief. “You sure? You don't look any different.”

He snorted. “Well, that's hardly likely, is it? I asked for one blue shirt, one red shirt, and two new pairs of brown trousers.”

The idiot. “But that's what you already _have._ ” Ignoring the whining tone in his own voice, he reached over and grabbed a pinch of Merlin's shirt. “And it's the same itchy cloth your other ones are made of. I was expecting a little variety.”

Merlin laughed outright. “Well, unlike _some_ spoiled prats I could mention,” and here he opened the wardrobe wide. “I don't exactly have need for a dozen sets of clothes. It hardly matters what I wear to the dinners and ceremonies, because I'm not in them. Not to mention, I'd like to see how long your trousers last doing my type of work.”

Arthur glanced down at his fine woolen breeches. “I beg your pardon?”

“Think about it, Arthur, d'you realize just how much time I spend on my knees in here?”

His traitorous mind immediately supplied a mental image that brought his mental processes to a screeching halt, before disappearing into the garderobe down the hall and into the cesspit. 

_No. **No** , Arthur. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Don't you **dare.**_

Thankfully, Merlin seemed completely unaware of what he'd just said, and had his back to Arthur and was therefore ignorant of Arthur's unattractive attempts to control both brain and body. “I mean, the ones I already had were pretty tough, meant for farm work, but my new trousers ought to stand up much better for floor scrubbing. Yours'd have holes in them by the time the baseboards were finished.”

Luckily, years of being caught off-guard and distracted in council meetings had taught Arthur how to keep his composure. “I'll take your word for it, then.” There were a few moments of silence as he wrestled his mind back to it's proper place. “I just find it disappointing that there's nothing new to look at, I suppose.”

Merlin smirked over his shoulder, “Really, is that what that business with the hat was all about? Can't keep yourself amused during dinners, so you need me to be your personal jester?”

“Can't think of anyone more qualified for the job,” Arthur retorted automatically, easing back into the banter.”Still. Why blue and red? Why not any other color?”

A shrug. “Blue's my favorite color. Always has been. And red . . . well, less so, but. Well, now that I'm here, it kind of _means_ something, doesn't it?” Merlin stopped what he was doing and cast an oddly shy smile at Arthur. “I've never really _belonged_ anywhere before, so wearing Pendragon red is . . . it's nice, is all.”

And damn if that didn't make Arthur's chest tighten up with something he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Merlin approached him, _finally_ holding the appropriate tunic. “Speaking of, we need to make you _look_ like a prince, at least, so let's get you dressed.”

“ _Make me_ look like a prince? What do I _normally_ look like, then?” Arthur pitched his voice low, intending it to be a warning.

That his servant completely ignored. “Like an ass,” he said with his cheekiest grin, dodging quickly out of Arthur's reach. There was a small tussle, that ended with Merlin's head clamped firmly against Arthur's sides while Arthur discovered that Merlin was highly ticklish along _his._

They wrestled like little boys, Merlin's shrieks of laughter going higher and higher and Arthur ending up being knocked to the floor by the efforts of the gangly boy trying to escape and finally Merlin shrieked properly for mercy, repeating Arthur's insistence that _yes, he was a very handsome prince_ and _anyone would be thrilled to have you, Arthurgodletmegoplease._

Sitting on the floor, catching his breath, Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. “Now, _Mer_ lin, perhaps you'll remember that all your blessings are handing down by your _beneficent_ master and prince of the realm, who most _definitely_ does not look like _any sort_ of pack animal, yes?

Merlin was sprawled face-first on the cool stone floor, definitely the worse for wear. His “as you say, Sire,” was muffled, and it took several moments before he hauled himself up to sitting.

Arthur took a look at Merlin's sweaty, still-flushed face, and felt another pang somewhere in his guts, but he'd thoroughly expired his excuses to touch his servant. He wondered, very briefly, what Merlin's reaction would be if he reached out and maybe tweaked a glowing red ear, but instead teased, “Your shirt still feels like it's made out of sackcloth.”

Merlin huffed. “It probably _is._ Or cheesecloth. We servants don't warrant the nice cloth, obviously. A few washings ought to soften it up a bit.” Just then, he glanced down and cursed in annoyance. “Speaking of, please tell me you weren't really set on _this_ particular shirt.”

Arthur looked down to see his tunic underneath the both of them, clearly the worse for wear after their wrestling match. “Well. We'll just have to find another. More laundry for _you._ ”

“Just what I needed, sire.”

“I endeavor to keep you from becoming bored,” Arthur replied in his magnanimous ruler voice.

There was no disguising the laughter in Merlin's voice, “You're too kind, sire. Far, _far_ too kind. In fact, you can stop any time. I'm sure there are servants in more need of . . . _amusement._ ”

“I'll keep that in mind, and send your compliments, as well.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Later on, Arthur would insist on cleaning through his older clothes and insisting Merlin take the red and blue shirts for his own use.

And if the next time he needed new clothing, he requested more of the same, well. He was the prince and could wear whatever he damn well pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a bit before the next chapter. My Muses are insistent that we raise the rating for next chapter, and then reel it back down. I'm trying to convince them otherwise, because I hate to see Merlin get hurt. If I can't, expect porn and angst both.


End file.
